


Chalice

by jottingprosaist (jane_potter)



Series: The Dragon of Blue Caldera [1]
Category: Dragon Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Dehumanization, Dragons, Forced Orgasm, Knotting, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oviposition, Painful Sex, Trans Male Character, Xenophilia, keeping humans as sex pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jottingprosaist
Summary: A dragon goes out to find new treasure for its hoard: a chalice, pretty and valuable and so delightful to fill. A princess is traditional, but a knight is more of a challenge. The squire he ends up with is more interesting than either.
Relationships: Dragon/Knight
Series: The Dragon of Blue Caldera [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711816
Comments: 21
Kudos: 297





	Chalice

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure noncon monsterfucking, folks. Mind the tags! There may be other rough content that isn't explicitly warned for. Feel free to let me know if there's something else you think should be tagged.
> 
> And ENJOY!

It started, of course, because Orthoclase had a new chalice and couldn’t resist showing off.

“I’ve had it for just three moons now,” she bragged, casually circling her hoard just to make them watch the glitter of treasure that mounded the cave, wall to wall. “It’s somewhat broken in already, naturally, but it seems to be quite durable. I expect it may last me a full year.”

The chalice displayed on a stand in the center of Orthoclase’s hoard whimpered. Without their steel trappings many knights looked fragile, but this one held up rather well; its muscles and sinews shone in the firelight as it squirmed and flexed fretfully against the restraining gold frame.

Diorite glared at the ornate goldwork stand that held the knight’s limbs in perfect position for mounting. It wasn’t enough that Orthoclase received regular tributes of treasure, no; she received tributes _custom made_ for her convenience. The smiths who had wrought the stand must have known exactly what it was for and had made it anyway, living as they did in fear and awe of Orthoclase Silverqueen.

Aegirine reclined on the other side of the hoard, releasing a shimmering avalanche of silver coin. “How long did the last one manage? Six moons? Seven? They never make it long without magic.”

“I’ll make it last,” Orthoclase snapped.

Between them, the knight moaned. From his seat Diorite could see the knight’s arsehole clench hard, sending a trickle of seed down its inner thighs. The hole looked swollen and red and oh so very soft.

“With shaping magic, of course, they’re easy to keep,” Aegirine purred. “This one I’ve had for over ten years.” He lifted a heavy locket from one of the chains around his horns, placed it on the ground, and inserted the tip of one brass claw into the lock. With a crackle of magic, the locket issued a plume of oily steam that resolved into a plump peach-fleshed human form.

Aegirine turned his chalice over with a flick of his tail. The human cried out sharply— a princess, Diorite thought, but it was hard to know what _anything_ had originally been once a brass dragon got his claws in. It was as if shape-changers couldn’t resist using their magic at the slightest opportunity.

The chalice Aegirine had moulded to his whims was remarkable now: a soft, portable little morsel without arms or legs, just a head and torso with plump breasts, plush buttocks, and a swollen curving belly. Both its quim and its arsehole were engorged and dripping. Its mouth hung slackly open, a sweet red-lipped cavern with no teeth uttering soft cries.

Orthoclase’s knight gave a high-pitched scream. The rest of its noise was reduced to vowels and involuntary slobbering around the curved gold rod embedded deep in its mouth. Orthoclase had slotted the rod into the frame in front of its head. Diorite made a mental note: he’d been told one had to be cautious about a human’s breathing needs, but clearly there was some leeway.

“I believe I would get bored of a chalice I’d had for that long,” Orthoclase said to Aegirine. “But if you like it, I suppose it’s fine for you.”

Diorite flexed his paws in the hoard beneath him. Cut sapphires ground unpleasantly between his claws.

“I’ll be getting a chalice soon,” he said.

They both looked at him in surprise.

“A knight, of course,” Diorite continued. “They’re very bold just across the river from my den. It’s been some time since anyone held Blue Caldera.”

“You know, it’s really best to start with one that’s already tamed,” said Aegirine. “Something ready for use.”

“They can be a handful at first,” Orthoclase agreed. “And of course it takes some practice if one may not be certain what one is doing.”

“Would you like one of mine?” Aegirine asked solicitously. “Mm, what do I have… There’s an orc with a very good throat, doesn’t even need to breathe through it any more. Big sturdy pelvis. Almost impossible to break. Perfect for your first time.”

Diorite couldn’t stop his tail from lashing hard. Coin scattered like bursting stars. To his shock, Orthoclase’s chalice gave a splitting shriek of pain. The horn-scaled tip of Diorite’s tail had just barely lashed across its upper thigh and arse.

“ _Watch yourself_ _!_ ” Orthoclase snarled, lunging from her pile. She stopped twenty feet clear of Diorite but the steam vented from her nostrils wafted over his face.

Not because he was cowed but because it was _polite_ , Diorite recoiled and dropped his chin to the ground. “My apologies,” he said with care. “I didn’t mean to.”

Orthoclase bared her teeth. Then she turned away to inspect her chalice, giving the red welt Diorite had left across its arse a possessive lick. She tongued its delicate hanging balls. The knight was still whimpering in pain.

Aegirine regarded him mildly. He was kneading his chalice’s breasts, making it mewl and squirm on the floor. A few moments later he said, “The orc, then?”

Diorite was preoccupied with rearranging his pile for greater comfort. He flicked away a disgustingly sapphire-studded crown that had been poking his leg. “I can get my own.”

“Start with a princess at least,” said Orthoclase. “They’re usually easier to handle, and of course you get the extra hole.”

“A knight,” Diorite repeated. “It’s traditional.”

“Oh, yes,” Aegirine said. “There weren’t any to stop you claiming the Caldera, were there. I suppose you ought to fight one or two, yes. For tradition’s sake.”

Barely flicking an eye at Diorite’s glower, he dipped his snout down and licked the engorged holes between the smooth stumps of his chalice’s hips. It arched its back and squirmed on the gold, emitting a noise somewhere between pleasure and despair. Aegirine’s tongue slithered deep into the quim, then the arse, debating between the two. Or showing off how those holes stretched around his thick, muscular tongue.

“Oh. Would you like to try this one?” he offered pleasantly, as if this were Diorite’s lair and he owed his host tribute.

“No.”

“I have my own,” Orthoclase said, forestalling the perfunctory invitation. “And it’s still remarkably tight. You should hear the noise it makes.”

By the possessive glitter in her eyes, she was not about to offer Diorite a taste. He’d expected no such thing. Jealousy still burned through him as Orthoclase trailed a needle-pointed silver claw down her chalice’s rippling back to make it moan.

Across the cave, Aegirine rolled onto his back in an avalanche of sparkling coin. He picked up his chalice in one massive, long-fingered paw— closer to a human hand than not, as was the shape-changer’s preference. The scales of his cloaca were already parting to reveal the slick purple head of his cock.

Scaly fingers wrapped firmly around its soft belly, Aegirine rubbed his chalice’s dripping holes over his cloaca. It squirmed and mewled— Diorite didn’t think it could speak— and flexed its hips, making some attempt even in its limbless and pinioned state to choose where Aegirine’s cock entered.

With a rumbling sigh, Aegirine slotted the princess’ arsehole over the tapered head of his cock. It squealed. At the promise of hot, wet depths to plunge, several more inches of cock emerged from his cloaca, sliding slowly and directly up its arse.

The clash of metal made Diorite flinch. Orthoclase had shimmied off her pile and gone nosing into the back of the cave, rummaging through piles. She had enough treasure that she _lost_ things in it. After a moment she returned with a cut-crystal bottle floating after her. The stopper popped out. The bottle tilted in mid-air, pouring a thin stream of oil over the bound knight’s clenching hole..

“Ohhhh,” it was moaning around the metal rod in its mouth, rocking and straining against the stand as if it had a prayer of escape. “Ohhh, _ohhhhhh_ , plssss…”

Diorite restrained a shiver. Oil made the knight’s hole _glisten_. It looked already much abused— so fragile, humans were. What Diorite had heard should be an unremarkable pucker was a huge, puffy ring visible between those muscular buttocks, crimson and swollen and clenching obscenely. It was like the knight _wanted_ to be fucked.

Orthoclase circled a claw in the air. The stopper clicked back into place, and then the bottle shot straight into the side of Diorite’s pile, spraying him with gold. He flinched and realized Orthoclase was watching him.

Her glittering crystal eyes remained fixed on his as she deliberately mounted her now-weeping knight. Her silver-scaled belly arched clear enough of its body that Diorite could see her two curved purple hemipenes rubbing the knight’s back, oozing clear fluid halfway up its spine.

Diorite vented a casual snort of smoke and tilted his chin, refusing to look away from her stare. Barely, in his peripheral vision, he saw the bulging, nub-studded head of one hemicock catch on the knight’s swollen hole. The knight flinched. Orthoclase growled, clenched her claws in the hoard. There was a squelch and a scream and she shuddered hard, undulating forcibly down.

Diorite looked. The bulging purple head of her cock sank the rest of the way in and the knight’s swollen hole closed around it, leaving the smooth slender shaft to go.

Growling with pleasure, Orthoclase slowly began to thrust in and out, working the bulbous head of her cock deeper and deeper into the knight. Beneath her the human screamed and gurgled, its noise rhythmically broken when she rocked it throat-deep onto the frame’s protruding mouth-shaft.

 _How deep do human holes go?_ Diorite wondered. He’d seen the viscera of sheep and deer, even a few farmer knights that he’d startled in their fields. It was different watching a cock the length of the human’s arm thrusting into its guts.

Aegirine had no such concerns. A human’s holes could go as deep as he wanted. _Even all the way through_ , he had bragged once. _Though it takes a lot of magic_. On the other side of the cave, he was fully erect and undulating steadily into his chalice. Its soft body was held flat against his belly, its breasts rubbing his smooth serpentine scales.

“Wait for it,” Aegirine hissed. “Watch. Watch. Nearly there…”

His princess was squeaking on every thrust, getting steadily louder and more urgent though Diorite could see nothing changing. Then, as he stared, the princess arched violently and screamed, its hips grinding hard against Aegirine’s stomach. A gush of liquid ran down his scales.

Grinning, he lifted the princess upright, revealing a hard nub throbbing between plump pink folds. It was the smallest cock Diorite had ever seen, perhaps the size of one of the cabochon opals ringing Orthoclase’s horns.

“They get tighter after that,” Aegirine panted. With the princess lifted upright, he impaled it fully on his cock, burying the last claw-span of his length in its hole. The princess tossed her head and wailed.

More urgently now, Aegirine rolled his hips and brought his chalice down to meet them. Feverishly he plunged it up and down his shaft. The sound and scent of fucking filled the cave.

“Are you certain you don’t want to borrow one of mine?” he panted. His eyes were slits of pleasure that focused on Diorite solely to see his solitude. “They’re so lovely and wet.”

“I’m fine,” Diorite said, managing an even tone. He stretched out further on his pile. His cloaca throbbed against the cool gold beneath him. He clenched hard, refusing to release no matter how the fullness made him ache. Sitting with his cock out and untended would be _worse_.

“You’ll get one of your own,” Orthoclase growled as if she’d read his mind. She hunched hard over her chalice, clearly aroused and distracted, but her glittering crystal eye remained on Diorite. Her cock was nearly all the way in, its nubby head raking back and forth deep within. He could see her _move_ in the knight’s flat belly, the thrusting bulge synchronized with the knight’s high-pitched cries.

Diorite clenched his claws and watched.

* * *

Four days later, he captured his knight at twilight on a riverbank. It had removed its weapons and iron chain shirt in order to bathe.

Just because Diorite was _capable_ of fighting a knight in full armour didn’t mean he had to be _stupid_ about it. And it wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to figure out how to pull a human out of its shell without cracking off the limbs.

The knight had only time for a short, startled scream before Diorite had snatched it with his back claws— both paws, clutching an arm and a leg because he wasn’t _quite_ yet Aegirine’s size— and arched back into the air. His wingtips raked the earth painfully but then he was aloft. Not his neatest dive, but the human wouldn’t know. He shook the pain from his skinned wingtips and beat the air harder.

Below him the human yelled again. It thrashed in his grip. He barely resisted the instinct to let it _drop_ for a perfect, neat kill against the ground. The human seemed to realize that possibility and stopped fighting as Diorite climbed higher and higher, though it continued to utter short, panicked bleats of alarm: “—oh fuck oh _fuck_ oh fuck oh FUCK...”

Diorite tore through the misty veils of orange-lit cloud with his heart pounding hard. Elation raced in his blood. He had _done_ it! He had a knight!

Mid-flight or no, his cloaca was tight. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last the first time he used his new toy.

The smooth slopes of the Blue Caldera cut a dark silhouette against the golden west. Diorite glided over the rim, revealing a steep crater and near-perfect circular lake. Charred stubble from last night’s burn still smoked on the southern edge. He had nearly finished deforesting the caldera’s inner slopes.

Diorite banked and glided toward the dark opening of his cave. The mirror-still surface of the lake rushed closer and closer.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—”

Sudden agony lanced up his hind leg. With a screech, he instinctively kicked and flung off the knight.

The human splashed heavily into the lake, Diorite nearly following a moment later. He managed to right himself with some frantic flapping. He kicked up water all over himself, lifted, then lurched down into a messy sprawl on the stone beach.

Stunned, Diorite lay panting for a moment. When he looked at his hind leg, there was a short dagger protruding just below his knee.

“You!” he screamed, whirling on the lake. Some distance out the knight was paddling and coughing for air.

“ _Fuck_ —”

He roared out a plume of searing fire. It didn’t nearly reach the human, which a moment later he was glad of. Roasting and eating wouldn’t be satisfactory enough.

“You can’t swim forever,” Diorite snarled. “Come into my home and face me!”

The human, panting frantically, began swimming toward the opposite side of the lake.

Seething, Diorite pulled the dagger from his leg and flung it into his cave. It bounced off a wall, then the floor— didn’t even clink on the metal of his meagre little hoard. Most of his treasure was heaped in a single pile at the back of the cave. Grubby and cheap iron, the dagger would fit right in.

“Get him,” Diorite mumbled, then licked his stinging wound. “I’m coming to get you!” he screamed at the lake. He lowered his head and inspected the wound again. “Pestiferous _knights_ …”

It was a clean stab, though one of his scales was fully gone. He licked it one last time then sent a pulse of healing magic through himself. There was sharp clean pain, like a loose tooth yanked, and then nothing but tingling, radiant heat.

Healing was not ordinarily the province of black dragons— at least, not as far as common lore went. It was a secret weapon, guarded to give them one last edge against a knight or a mob that might not worry about letting a near-gutted dragon flee to its cave for a few final hours. Even other dragons wouldn’t know, or at most might think it the quirk of a few exceptional blacks. Orthoclase needled Diorite far too much about his humble talents for fire and lightning to suspect that he had other power.

In a moment the flesh began to knit, tender and lilac-white. The scalebed was ruined. He’d probably never grow that one back.

 _In a hundred years_ , he thought, stumping determinedly toward the lake, _I’ll say, and that’s where my first chalice nipped me. And laugh_.

He had to swoop down and fish his knight out of the water. It took three attempts to catch the slippery thing. Judging by the way it cried out as he winged back toward his cave, he’d scratched it a bit.

Unwilling to risk cracking any bones if he tossed it on the rocks— he had no real measure of _how_ fragile they were— Diorite dropped it in the shallows. This time it was exhausted enough that it crawled in to the shore, needing solid land and air more than fearing the dragon.

He landed with a thump and glowered at it. Soaked, shivering, it stared from beneath a mane of dripping brown hair and waited on hands and knees.

“Into the cave,” he said, as silkily as possible. “I’ve no plan to kill you, though I easily could. Unless you intend only to be dinner and bones.”

The knight sniffed and rose unsteadily to its feet.

Diorite studied the human as it stumbled into his cave. Its bare feet seemed to hurt on the uneven rock beach. The inside of his cave was easier, being packed dirt and moss that his scales hadn’t yet scraped away. It had brown hair and reddish skin and clothing that clung to narrow limbs.

Not very sturdy. He repressed a curl of worry.

Not very flashy, either. One of Orthoclase’s old chalices had had sapphire blue hair and a choker of moonstones that couldn’t be removed from its neck.

He slinked in after the knight, curls of anticipatory smoke drifting from his nostrils.

The knight wiped water from its nose and backed several steps further into the cave. “You’re… not going to eat me?”

Diorite’s cloaca twinged. He thought, _Forget it_ , and lunged.

The knight crashed easily to the floor beneath his weight, though Diorite realized he was barely twice the human’s size. It yelled and thrashed, ineffectively pummelling his rough black scales.

“No, no! No, stop!”

He grasped one wrist between his jaws, right in the gap where he’d knocked out a fang that hadn’t yet grown back in. The panicking human scrabbled to keep up as he half-dragged it deeper into the cave.

Diorite’s hoard was mostly iron and steel, the relics of ruins and battlefields long grown over. There were copper ewers, a cracked bronze bell, and a scattering of gold that made him more jealous than proud. It was a young dragon’s hoard. But that meant it was full of _practical_ things.

Scythes and shields he did not care for. But manacles— those he might use.

In planning to get a chalice he’d made some preparations. The caldera made escape unlikely and the mountain itself even more so. But he wasn’t about to spend half his time chasing down his new chalice every time he wanted a fuck. Worse than escape, it might get itself killed. So he’d driven a broken sword deep into the stone, pinioning a link of chain in place. At the ends of the chain were some steel manacles whose latches Diorite could only force open with considerable strength. He assumed that would be beyond the abilities of a human.

His claws were just dexterous enough to snap a manacle shut on each of the knight’s wrists. It shouted and struggled but couldn’t yank free.

It was no smith-wrought goldwork mating stand, but it would do.

The human squirmed away until it ran up against the wall. Diorite grasped its ankle and dragged it back across the dirt floor.

“So,” he muttered, more to himself. “A chalice. My chalice. My first.”

His rough-spiked snout snagged on its shirt as he sniffed here and there. In places there was blood seeping through. He used one claw to tear off the clothing entirely, ignoring the knight crying, “Stop!”

Underneath were some scratches, some bruises. Some muscles, too! Dark hair dusted its collarbones. And another round of fabric snugly wrapped the chest.

“Stop! You said you weren’t going to eat me, stop, stop it, please—”

“I’m not going to eat you,” Diorite said, trying to nose past the knight’s intervening hands without just biting them off.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, and got a claw under the chest wrap. “That’s what you’re for.”

The fabric ripped and unravelled. The knight lay as if stunned by a much heavier blow.

“You’ve got breasts,” Diorite blurted. “I thought you were a knight!”

“I am! Well…”

“What?” he demanded, growing annoyed. He’d wanted a _knight_ for his first, had insisted upon it. Not a farmer knight or a merchant knight, either— the traditional kind. A challenge. “You had the armour. The sword!”

“I am, I’m— I’m almost. I’m a squire. I was, I was going back to Ronnanor, I have duties there— _please_ , stop— _oh god_.”

Diorite moved his paw over to the other breast and squeezed again, very lightly. His iron claws and rough pawpad still seemed to hurt. He left pink scrapes on the soft mounds.

“And here?” he demanded, reaching down for the human’s lower clothing. “Are you a princess here?”

“I’m a _squire!_ ” the human yelled, trying to curl up with its legs clamped shut. “ _Pleeease_ …”

Holding the human’s legs down and open took some manoeuvring, not because he lacked strength but because it required more paws than Diorite readily had. He had to turn himself sideways and use a back paw to hold one ankle in order to keep one dexterous front paw free. All the while the human struggled and cursed. He refused to think that perhaps Orthoclase and Aegirine had been right about starting with a more compliant chalice.

He slit open the leather and fabric of its trousers with a hard yank of his claw. Various layers came open. He hummed and tugged free the sturdy leather belt, which felt like it would make for a nice chew later. A couple of leather pouches tumbled to the ground with a jingle that caught his ear. Diorite smelled metal.

“Hush,” he said distractedly, flicking open one pouch. A little shimmer of silver and copper poured out. He lovingly licked the coin, searching for gold, and found one solitary yellow moon.

He couldn’t release the human in order to hoard up the coin. Annoyed, Diorite nudged the coin far aside for later.

He popped open the other pouch. It held a shiny steel flask.

“No!” the human shouted, struggling harder. Diorite pressed down in annoyance. “Not that, I need that!”

“Mine now,” he mumbled, going back to the human’s clothing. The fabric tore with a tug of his jaws and came mostly away, revealing hips and buttocks and muscular thighs. The human howled.

Without meaning to, Diorite huffed a little smoke. The human flinched. Between its legs was a thatch of damp, delightfully musky curls. Aegirine’s chalice hadn’t had that. But then, Aegirine’s chalice hadn’t had _any_ hair. Diorite pushed the human’s leg open farther and stuck his tongue out to investigate, just in case there was a cock he couldn’t see.

His tongue delved between warm lips, tasted _delicious_ salt, and slid up over a harder nub. Yes, there it was— a round little pearl of a cock, barely long enough to peek between the lips.

“Oh god,” the human moaned. It lay rigidly, staring up at the stone overhead. “Oh, god…”

“I wanted a knight,” Diorite snapped.

“I’m a squire,” the human quavered again.

“What’s that?”

“It’s… it’s almost a knight. I’ll be a knight one day, if— _god_. If you don’t kill me. Please.”

“Hm.”

Diorite debated, distracted by the delicious salt on his tongue. A squire was a _sort_ of knight, then. Very close. And clearly still a challenge!

“Yes,” he decided, and flicked his tongue out for another taste. “A chalice. You’ll do.” And he ripped away the last scraps of fabric around the squire’s ankles.

“No, _no_!”

“Stop that!” he snapped, hastily adjusting his grip. The chains screeched against the sword. He was afraid the human was about to dash its own head against the rock with its frantic thrashing. “Hold still, you can’t escape!”

A foot yanked free and kicked him squarely in the eye. Diorite’s head snapped back. He was stunned at how it hurt. And he couldn’t even _bite_ the little monster in order to get control!

“ _Let me go!_ ”

“Hold still!”

“Don’t _touch_ me, _fuck_ you—”

“I’m going to _break_ you, you little rat!”

The human kicked again before he wrestled its leg back under control. But with both front claws grasping its ankles and holding it stretched out flat on the ground, he couldn’t do anything else— unless it was with his tongue or his teeth, but he wasn’t about to use those…

“If you insist on screaming,” Diorite growled, getting an idea. If a knight could take Orthoclase’s entire cock, they could withstand some punishment.

He sat back on his haunches and lifted the squire’s legs up and apart, baring both of its holes and that little pink cockhead too.

“Noooooo— _AUGH!_ ”

The tip of his tail had slapped down hard across the squire’s exposed holes. At first there was no reaction— no blood, as he’d feared— and then hot stinging pink bloomed on the skin.

“Ohh, ohh, owwww— _AGHH_!”

It was effective, yes. But more than that, it was _pleasing_.

“AUUUUGH _GOD_ , stop!”

The end of Diorite’s tail was triangular and flattened, crocodilian; the bony spikes ridging his spine ended farther up, leaving only roughish scales and a flat spade at the very end. It cracked magnificently against the squire’s flesh. And it made it _scream_.

“Stop, stop— AGH! Ow! _AUGH! Fuck! AHH! AHHHHH!_ ”

Its quim grew redder, swollen and hot. Ready for mating. Diorite felt himself slavering and slapped down again. The squire screeched and thrashed horribly beneath him, but it was stretched between the manacles and Diorite’s grip on its spread legs. All it could do was scream and buck its hips in an attempt to shake the pain, the sight of which only made Diorite hungrier.

Diorite’s cloaca dilated and freed his cock in a long gush, a hard fast slide of squeeze and relief. He moaned and thrust his own hips against air just like the squire was.

“ _Auuughhh_ — stop— _GAHHH!_ Please stop! No more! No more!”

“Yesss…”

“ _STOP! Please!_ GOD, don’t cut me any more, please, I can’t, please oh god, don’t cut me, please, _pleeeeease_ …”

Panting, Diorite paused. When the next wave of pain didn’t come the squire went slack and broke down sobbing into the dirt. Its legs went on trembling like a tender young fawn.

“Cut you?” Diorite said delicately, nosing up against the squire’s jaw. He tasted its tears.

“No more,” the squire sobbed, turning its head. “Please, no more. I can’t.”

Diorite smelled no blood but still lowered his head to check. Both holes were inflamed; the skin was red and swollen from buttocks to lower belly, where his tail tip had flicked a few times. The broad flat scythe of his tail was not a discriminating instrument. But nowhere had he broken the skin.

Still the squire felt cut. His flesh blazed with heat. How fragile they were.

“Will you bend for me, then?” He licked more tears from its cheek.

“Yes,” the squire moaned, still weeping and wet. “Ye-eess. No more.”

“I’ll take care of you, squire,” Diorite said. “You’re my chalice. My first. I want you to last. I’m not going to rip you or break you apart.”

“Oww… oh my god, hn… ow…”

Diorite released one ankle and was pleased when the squire lay still but for the shaking. He got up, his cock bobbing stiffly against his scales. The squire let him adjust its legs, its knees wide apart so that the lips slickly parted, revealing cock and quim so delicate pink. He pushed aside the last scraps of torn clothing and flask.

The flask clanked against rock. It made the squire flinch and open its eyes.

“Not that,” it blurted, jerking toward the flask. “I need that. Please.”

“What is it?” asked Diorite, momentarily intrigued. The promise of treasure held an eternal allure. He delicately lifted the flask to feel its heavy slosh: more than halfway full.

“It’s— it’s for me. It makes me… myself.”

“Shape changing?” Diorite greedily cracked open the hasp.

“ _No!_ Please, please, it’s mine. It makes me a man, a witch made it, _please_.”

“Man,” he repeated, dubious. “What’s a man?”

“I… I’m a man. It makes me better. It won’t do a thing for you, it can’t. You’re a dragon. It’s for me.”

Annoyed, Diorite debated throwing it in the lake. But he wanted to see what it did. It probably wasn’t poison; this creature wasn’t smart enough to trick a dragon into death. “Drink it, then.”

Yet the squire evaded the flask, turning his jaw so it couldn’t hit his lips. “No— I mean yes, thank you, please. But I’m only supposed to drink a bit at a time. A few _drops_ every fortnight.”

“Drink it or I’ll toss it away.”

“No!”

“Drink it then.” He pushed the flask against cringing lips.

The squire squirmed underneath him. Its eyes were brown and shiny and wet, like a cow. Appealing in their own way. Then, lip trembling, it opened up and wrapped its mouth around the flask.

Diorite tipped the flask. The squire choked but struggled to swallow it all, chug after chug down its bare bobbing throat.

The squire’s mouth came free with a gasp and slick string of spit. The last dregs of the potion smelled salty and sweet.

It panted for breath. Diorite watched, suspicious.

“Well?”

“Mmm...”

“What?”

“Mm… mm— mm— _ohhh_ …”

A shudder wracked the squire. Hot flushing bloomed across its face, neck and chest.

The first change Diorite noticed was the fur on its chest. The fine scattering of dark hair across its collarbones and breasts became darker, thicker— a coarse curling pelt. And the squire’s breasts were _shrinking_ , flattening down, first growing slack and then naught at all as the skin itself tightened up on its ribs. The sudden change _hurt_ , if its squeals were a sign.

Its legs were twitching too. Diorite grabbed one reflexively, expecting a fight, but saw that wasn’t the case. Impossibly, its quim was growing redder and fatter, that hot flush inflaming the squire’s nether lips. And as if all the swollen plumpness of those breasts had to go somewhere, its cock was engorging.

The squire arched and cried out in a desperate mix of pleasure and pain. Its thighs strained to squeeze shut but Diorite held them open, fascinated to watch as the cock grew and grew.

The soft pearl of the head swelled out from its hood. It not only lay bare but strained upward and out, and Diorite realized there was an actual shaft thrusting up. Soon the growing shaft stretched its skin to the limit, a swollen shiny erection that throbbed for release. It grew thicker and longer, and the quim oozed out slick, and the squire’s cries grew louder and desperate and sharp.

When the transformation seemed over, the squire lay in distress, its whole body trembling with feverish need. Nothing remained of its breasts but those wide brown nipples, still puffy and softly domed with a last lingering trace of fat. Between its legs was a cock the length of the squire’s finger, ragingly erect but bent into a sharp curve by the restraint of its own sheathing skin. The squire writhed and leaked from its eyes and its quim, practically oozing frustration strong enough to taste.

This was a _heat_ if Diorite had ever seen one. Whoever this witch was, he owed it a boon.

“Oh _fuck_. Oh my god. Oh my god, please, I need… What did you do to me… What did you do?”

“I made you a man,” Diorite said, licking the tears from its lips. Magic tingled on his tongue. “There’s your potion. Aren’t you pleased?”

“ _God… fuck_!”

“Yes. Yes. You want me to fuck you now. You’ll be good for me? Yes?”

“No… I… fuck, please… I don’t…”

Diorite laved his tongue over its holes, tasting slick salt and _heat_. The squire all but convulsed and tried to grip his snout with its thighs.

“Yes! Oh my god, what have you done… Please. Please, I can’t. I need to— I need…”

Unable to restrain himself, he scrambled over the squire and gave a rough messy hump. His cock rubbed against its quim, its belly, a friction that stoked his need more than relieved it. The squire wept harder.

“Please, please don’t, it won’t _fit_.” Even so, the squire was helplessly grinding its hips on him, that tiny curved cock against Diorite’s girth.

Diorite tilted his head. His cock reached from the squire’s entrance to just past its navel. He might grow another claw-length or so when he was ready to spill his seed, too, though he didn’t know exactly; he’d never had to measure it for spatial concerns. It was half the length he’d watched Orthoclase and Aegirine stuff into their chalices.

“Of course it’ll fit. Humans can take quite a lot in their holes.”

He crouched awkwardly over the squire, only just realizing how flat it lay. He wanted to lie down on top and just fuck, as instinct said he should be able to do, but what if it was crushed? A gold mounting stand would be useful right now.

“You should be grateful you’re mine,” he muttered, shifting around. If he spread his haunches farther… and tilted its hips… “Orthoclase has a cock as big as your arm. Two of them. And I know she’s never done until she’s fucked with them both.”

The head of his cock rubbed the slick, searing heat of the squire’s quim. Diorite whined involuntarily, jerking his hips more frantically than he’d meant to. It took another few moments of them both squirming and gasping before his tip found the channel and pressed in.

The squire’s dripping folds parted easily for the tapered bulbous head of his cock. Then it was _tighter_ , so tight, but still slick enough for Diorite to push in and in and _in_ , driving his cock slowly into the hot clutching squeeze. Beneath him the squire shuddered and let out a hoarse scream that went on and on as long as his thrust. He didn’t think it was all pain.

“ _Yes_ ,” he rasped, his claws snarling through the dirt. “Yes, yes, oh, yes, there. Yes…”

“ _Uhhhhhhngh_.” He could feel the squire jerking but all its hips could do was rock minutely on his cock. Its knees and shins pressed weakly against his impervious flanks. “ _Uhhh_ … oh god…”

His hind claws skidded in the dirt. He adjusted and crouched lower, trying to push farther in. His cock throbbed almost painfully, desperate to be buried in _something_. Another claw’s length… another… The squire’s quim was growing tighter as Diorite’s shaft widened again, a smooth broadening bulge to the deflated knot at his base.

“God… fuck… uhhh— _unh!_ Ow! Fuck! Ow, please!”

Something had stopped his push. Diorite snarled softly. If the squire was too tight, it would just have to stretch. He jolted his hips. The squire screamed in pain.

Inflamed, Diorite drew back with a squelch and thrust in again, trying to force past the block. He wanted to _fuck_. He shoved until the squire’s scream reached a peak and he had driven it some distance across the floor, scrabbling frantically away from the impaling thrust of his cock.

Panting, Diorite crouched there and listened to the squire’s weeping cries. It didn’t feel like it was too tight. There was nowhere to go.

“You’re too small,” he growled, oddly betrayed.

The squire only sniffled and panted for breath. Now that Diorite had lain still for a while and stopped battering it, the squire seemed unable to stop itself from rocking its hips. Desperately seeking stimulation even as it wept. Its heat would not abate. It could not endure lying impaled on a cock and _not_ seek to come.

There was something good, then. His chalice might be small and fragile and not totally right formed, but it was wet and in heat and it _needed_. He could still use it like this.

Carefully, with all the control he had, Diorite began to move in slow shallow thrusts. Now he could feel the exquisite drag of his cock through those tight inner walls. There was a barrier, a wall, as deep in as he could go; and then as he withdrew his flared cockhead met a tighter channel that had to _stretch_ around its girth as he pulled out and out. Halfway in again his cockhead settled back into that slight open space, the barrier, and the squire sobbed in relief.

“Oh fuck… oh fuck… _uuuuhh_ fuck oh _fuuuuck_ …”

“Like that?” he rumbled, rolling his hips. He craned his neck to look beneath himself at the sweating red-faced wreck of his squire. His pretty new chalice. “Is that what you want?”

“ _Uuhhhh…_ fuck _…_ please no, I don’t _— nghh_. Fuck. Fuck, I’m— _fuuuck_ —”

Yes. It was tensing up, clenching, its breath coming harder. It gasped in time with his rhythmic thrusts. This was easy, too easy; what a desperate wreck he had; what a wanton greedy chalice who took his cock so good and nice. The depth of its hole wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Diorite had hoped, but he bit down his frustrated denial and continued to fuck it, short quickening strokes, stoking its lust and its pleasure and pain until the squire screamed out and convulsed hard beneath him.

Its quim tightened to the point of near pain— for both of them, it seemed, as the squire gave a second sharp scream of distress. Then it was releasing, unfolding, its quim throbbing around him, strong muscular clenches that made Diorite groan.

 _Oh_ , he understood why Aegirine did this, why he put in the effort to make his chalice peak. It tightened up, yes, and it throbbed like a heartbeat, a heartbeat that gripped and sucked and pulled. He hadn’t known bodies could _do_ that.

Without noticing, Diorite was rocking his hips in time with the squire’s orgasm, pushing his cockhead against its inner wall on every squeeze to heighten the pleasure. It was just a _little_ pleasure, a sweet delaying one, but it was worth every moment.

“Do it again,” Diorite murmured, picking up the pace. He had found just the right angle to rub the shaft of his cock along the squire’s straining cock as he moved in and out.

Beneath him, the squire shuddered and swore and sobbed for breath and mercy and more.

The second time it came, it gripped Diorite’s flanks between its knees and fucked up into him as hard as it could, hips levered up high from the ground. It didn’t seem to notice the scrape of his scales or its shoulders grinding into the dirt. In the aftermath it continued to spasm, seeming to twitch through a renewed pulse of orgasm every time Diorite thrust. It groaned, “ _God_ , no, please, yes… fuck, oh, fuck, uh, uh, _unhhh_ …”

He kept on thrusting, fucking it open. The barrier refused to part, to let his cock in all the way, but the squire’s quim grew looser and _wetter_. Diorite could smell salt everywhere, dripping, slicking between them. He feverishly licked the squire’s cheeks, even its mouth, chasing the tingling remnants of potion, and pursued another of those pleasurable quakes.

The third time it came, the squire was crying openly again, trying to push Diorite off even as its hips stuttered and ground against him. Its completion was ragged and messy and _hard._ “No more,” it was begging, “no more, please, I can’t… What did you _do_ to me, oh my god, no…”

Diorite resisted the push to withdraw his length but stopped thrusting as he struggled for control. Smoke vented from his snout. The squire’s whimpers went nearly silent but its quim continued to squeeze noisily around his length, squirting trickles of fluid every time it clenched.

His cock was leaking, Diorite realized. The sac just within his cloaca had swollen up tight and full and was ready to _burst_ , if only he could just fuck this thing properly. He didn’t know if he could even orgasm without a grip around his knot. How pathetic would it be to have to pull his own knot even _with_ a chalice to use?

“Hold still,” he rasped, grabbing the squire’s legs and lifting it higher in preparation. “Scream if you must. I need to be _in_ you.”

“You’re already in!”

“All the way.”

“It won’t fit!”

“I need to come!” Diorite snarled. “One way or another, you’ll take my seed.”

To his frustration, this set off a fresh wave of struggling that he could have done without. He didn’t want to have to pin every limb or else worry that the chalice would damage itself thrashing against rocks and scales.

“No, wait— no no no please, not inside me, please don’t come inside. Not there, please don’t—”

Diorite snorted and thrust experimentally, trying to see if there was an angle that would let him force farther into some unbreached depth.

“ _OW_ , ow, please no, don’t make me pregnant, _please_ not inside. Take my arse instead! Just please don’t breed me, not there…”

Diorite paused.

“Yes! Oh, god… You can… use me elsewise. Just not in there. Please.”

“Yesss,” Diorite rumbled, lowering its legs to the ground. The squire moaned in relief. He backed up a pace and dragged his cock out. The flared head squelched free with a pop that made the squire spasm. Salty cum and the pearly swirl of Diorite’s fluid gushed out. The squire whimpered and tried to reach down a hand to feel. The chain brought it up short.

Impatient, Diorite rolled the squire onto its front. Its skin was filthy all over now, raw and scratched and dusty. It stank of sex and sweat and he _burned_.

“Up,” he snapped. “Up. On your knees.”

Gasping, the squire pushed itself up. Its thighs rubbed together. He pried them apart.

There was already slick all over its arsehole. That tiny pucker clenched even tighter than its quim had. This didn’t seem the better option. But Orthoclase had done it— if that wasn’t shaper magic that nobody had bothered to tell Diorite about. It would be just like her and Aegirine to keep such a thing from him and laugh when his chalices broke.

If he didn’t fit here, he’d just _make_ it fit.

At least it was easier to mount the squire kneeling. Diorite’s tail lashed the ground tersely as he tried to line up his cock. He was leaking steadily now. Fluid spattered on the dirt.

There— no— there it was— no. He thought he’d got it, thrust hard, and made the squire cry out “ _Oh!_ ” as his cock rammed back into its quim.

“Open!” he roared.

“I’m sorry! I can—” It gulped— “Here. Let me do it.”

It craned its neck to look up at him, all touselled hair and tear-shiny eyes. One trembling hand jangled its manacle.

Soft, clawless little hands. But very dexterous. And it couldn’t get away with one wrist still shackled.

“If I have to hold that hand down, I will bite it off,” Diorite growled. The human whimpered as he pried two claws into the manacle and, with some effort, popped it open.

It winced and sucked the abraded skin of its wrist for a moment. Then its hand went down between its legs as if drawn by lodestone. Trembling fingers found its new cock, dripping with juices that still oozed from its quim, and it moaned.

Diorite jabbed his cock hard at its buttocks with a snarl. “ _I_ _n_.”

“Ah! God… okay, I… oh god.”

Its wandering hand found his shaft. Terrified fingertips slid up to his cockhead and traced around: spreading slick and trying to get a sense of his size, Diorite thought. He rumbled but let it explore because the touch felt good. Timid and shaky, but that was appealing in its own way.

The squire was breathing harder. “Oh god,” it kept whispering, “oh my god…”

One fingertip found the wide slit at the very tip of his tapered cockhead. Tentatively it pushed in, blocking the steady drip of fluid. A sizzling shock of pleasure made Diorite suddenly yowl and jerk. The squire jolted away.

“In!” he rasped. “Now!”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” it whimpered, lining up his cock with its arse, “god… OH!”

He was _in_. Immediately the tight squeeze around his cockhead wasn’t _enough_. Afraid he would lose the penetration if he hesitated, Diorite pushed hard. The squire’s noise rose an octave in panic and pain. He held it in place by the shoulder with one claw— maybe too tight, but he didn’t care; all he could feel was his cock sinking deeper, deeper into that tight hot squeeze.

“ _Ow_ , oh, oh no, god, please, _ohh_ … ohhhhh…”

"Yesss,” he hissed, claws kneading in the dirt. His hips had found a regular rhythm that he had no control over, an instinctive rocking push to work open this tight hot hole. He had delayed too long to slow down or stop. “Yessss, oh…”

“Wait, no, please— _ow_ —”

He was getting in, farther in; the squire’s begging meant nothing. He would have it. Take it. Fill it all the way. He needed more— more—

“It _hurts_ , ow, please, ow _stop_!”

His cock hit something tight. A blockage. An end? “No!” Diorite snarled, his tail lashing the dirt. No, not _again_. “Open up! Open!”

And he restrained its increasingly frantic struggling with a claw around its throat as he dug in and _shoved_. There was pressure and pressure and then something unbent, opened, and his cock thrust in, though it made the squire scream. Panting with relief and burgeoning need, Diorite held it tighter and thrust his hips hard.

“ _Ow_ , ow— stop, it hurts— ow! God! Stop! Please!”

“Scream, little one,” Diorite urged, chasing pleasure and peak. He could feel the tight ring of its hole growing closer and closer to his base. His sac was fluttering, throbbing, pumping more fluid as he grew ready to spill. Arousal twisted him up inside. “That’s it… there… yes, oh, there…”

“It’s too much,” the squire was sobbing, “it won’t fit, please, I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Yes, oh— yesss, yess!”

This was what he’d wanted— so perfect, so tight— and hot and gripping in a way he’d never managed alone. His cock was nearly in. It was crying in pain. Its thrashing barely even registered; he easily had the strength to hold it still, drag it close and cram it down _hard_ on those last few resistant clawspans of his cock.

The chalice gripped the base of his cock like a radiant star. White hot pleasure radiated up his spine. It unlocked the last desperate _need_ — he was _there_ — and the tension flowed from his groin into his knot. Diorite groaned. That twitching, clenching heat around his cock was all he needed to feel.

“Take it out,” the squire was weeping, “take it out, take it out, you’re hurting me, please…”

“Stay there,” Diorite panted, shuddering hard. “Shhh, shh, stay there.”

“It _huuurts_ … _unnnhh_ …”

Realizing how hard he had been clutching his chalice, he loosened his grip. A few scratches bled. Still, its raw messy choking and sobbing were… unwell. He might have gone too hard.

Ah, it was _tight_. Diorite’s eyes fluttered through a momentary squeeze.

“Here now,” he rumbled, putting a paw under its belly, right where his cock throbbed. He couldn’t feel if it was bulging out or not. “Hush, pretty… you’ll be all right.”

Healing magic flowed through his claws, as sweet and bright as gold. It felt strange to give it to a creature not himself. Beneath him the human shuddered and screamed, and then slowly its gurgling became regular moans.

“There you are,” Diorite purred, now that he could afford to be tender. He felt tremendous affection for the little creature speared on his cock. “Now it fits. Like you were made to be mine.”

The squire sniffled and lay still, shaking and panting but finally quiet. Its hips hung from his knot and its chest was flat on the ground. His knot continued throbbing, sweetly stretching and hot.

“What’s happening?” the squire rasped. It tried to clench and Diorite groaned. The last hot rush of blood to his knot made him dizzy.

“There,” he panted, shutting his eyes. “Uh… yes… sweet little thing. Nearly there.”

“Are you—?”

“Almost. Squeeze for me, sweet. Help me fill you up.”

The squire muffled a moan with its knuckles. Its face was so prettily red. Slowly, laboriously, it clenched and released, massaging his cock toward that great building peak. All Diorite had to do was groan and shake through it. It was glorious _._

“Yessss… yes… oh, darling. _Rrgh_ , precious thing. Squeeze me. So tight.” He gasped out an accidental lick of flame and scraped at the earth. The squire cried out. “Like that— like that— fill you full of me— _rrrrrgh_!”

Pleasure peaked through him like a spill of molten gold. It was real, the spill: his sac contracted and finally released the first egg. One by one they slid into his shaft, down and through, heightening the already tight squeeze around his cock to a blinding intensity. The first soft orb that popped out of his cock made Diorite and the squire both cry out as one.

Fluid and eggs gushed out of him one pulse at a time, a steady orgasmic shudder and throb. After the nearly violent ecstasy of the first few, Diorite sighed and settled into it. His cock softened, except for the knot. He basked in the glorious radiation of release.

The only disruption was his chalice, squirming in distress. “What’s happening?” it demanded, a little shrill with panic.

Diorite settled it with an absent claw over its neck. “Seed,” he rumbled. “Eggs. Infertile, of course.”

The squire wrung out a choking, sobbing, hysterical noise. Diorite twitched with some alarm, but it seemed more or less unharmed. Dramatic little thing.

He sighed heavily and settled down to drift through the final pleasurable waves.

Outside the cave, the rippling lake had gone nearly black in the falling dark. The eastern lip of the caldera was sharply limned with red-gold. There were insects and wavelets and branches creaking in the wind.

Diorite didn’t especially feel like going out to burn away another swath of trees. He hadn’t the energy for much more than stretching out and nosing through his hoard, really. He’d find a nice place for that steel flask. He felt very fond of it.

And a place for his chalice, of course. Now that he had one. His stubborn, squalling, favourite gem.

Giving a sigh of relief, Diorite tugged his cock free with a squelch. The squire all but collapsed, its thighs shaking too hard to hold.

Diorite nuzzled between its legs to lick both of its holes, checking for blood. There was only his slick and the sweet salt of human cum. Whimpering, the squire clutched its belly and squirmed weakly away. Diorite let it.

They both needed rest. There was work to be done. Diorite would need to hoard a great deal more gold if he wanted a stand to mount his pretty chalice on and fuck it like he deserved.


End file.
